


Ditto

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Post-Season 9 (X-Files), Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-19
Updated: 2003-02-19
Packaged: 2019-04-27 05:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14419086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: He'll do anything he can to satisfy her, to keep her around, but he can't tell her the truth.





	Ditto

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

 

Ditto

## Ditto

### by Elsie
    
    
    TITLE:          Ditto
    AUTHOR:         Elsie
    DATE:           January 2003
    RATING:         PG-13
    CATEGORY:       SRA, MSR
    DISTRIBUTION:   anywhere
    SPOILERS:       The Truth
    

SUMMARY: He'll do anything he can to satisfy her, to keep her around, but he can't tell her the truth. 

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a companion piece to "Life With Mulder." Thanks to Sohail for the comments, and Georgia for asking for more. 

DISCLAIMER: These characters aren't mine. No infringement is intended. 

* * *

He's afraid of opening his mouth, scared of what words might come out, so he keeps his mouth shut. It's not as hard as he thought it would be. He'd gotten used to not needing to speak during his time with Gibson. The effort he puts into his silence is nothing compared to the horrible pain that will inevitably follow if he accidentally blurts out something that he'll regret. And so he stays silent. It's much easier. 

He dreams about being unable to keep silent. In his worst nightmare, he tells her that he's glad William's not with them, that he wouldn't want their son subjected to the kind of life they now have, a life on the run. He wakes up in fear, still clutching her body fiercely to his, so she can't escape. As scared as he is that she'll leave him, he also knows that he'd let her go if that was what she wanted. He made sure he opened a separate account for her Before, not only for the possibility that they might have to live apart, but so she'd have sufficient funds if she ever wanted to leave him. 

He categorizes his life with Scully into two parts: Before he left her and William, and Now. The months that he spent with Gibson don't count; Scully wasn't there. 

The transition to living with throwaway identities has been harder on her than him, but he is not without a need to adjust to Now as well. He is learning to live with her, and trying to enjoy every second of it. She can nag him all she wants, annoy him to no end, or surround him in hostile reticence, but her presence will still be mind-numbingly incredible. He still can't get over that she is really here with him, that she has chosen him. 

He stopped seeing the dead in Roswell, and he no longer knows whether it was real or all in his imagination. Scully doesn't know because he doesn't know how to bring it up. She probably thinks he's crazy enough as it is. 

She's not the same woman he remembers from Before, but he can't go back to the way things were, no matter how much he may wish for it. Even if she were the same, things are different Now. As it is, she's now only a remnant of Before Scully, and he's too worried about the future to focus on their relationship. They're not drowning yet, but he's conscious of the fact that Now he might lose her, the only thing left to live for. So he'll do anything he can to satisfy her, to keep her around, but he can't tell her the truth. 

Leaving a gas station somewhere in Colorado, he's jingling his change in his right hand when he sees the candy machines by the entrance. On impulse, he inserts his quarters into one. He turns the dial clockwise twice, then collects his treasure at the bottom of the machine. A miniature teddy bear is stuffed into the clear plastic egg, along with three individually wrapped gumballs. He pockets the egg and heads back to the truck. He'd seen Scully eyeing a chocolate bar in the last gas station but deciding not to buy anything in the end, putting her money away again. She yelled at him yesterday when he bought the wrong kind of bread, so this is his way of making amends. He hopes that she can taste his apology in the gift. 

She's already buckled up into the passenger seat when he gets back to the truck. He silently starts the truck, puts his seatbelt on, and places the plastic egg in her lap. As he drives away, he looks at her out of the corner of his eye, pretending to be paying attention to the road only. He can't tell whether she is smiling or frowning, but at least she hasn't thrown the egg back at him. She picks up the egg, opens it, and removes the contents. She stares at the objects in her hand for a moment, before picking out the gumballs. He hears the crinkling as she unwraps the little balls of sugary goodness. 

He has to stop looking at her to maneuver a curve, but sees her hand in front of his face when he turns to glance at her when the highway returns to its boring, straight line. "Here," she says, holding a gumball to his lips, "you know I only chew sugarless gum." He opens his mouth and she pushes one gumball after another into his mouth. He bites down into the rock-hard spheres, smiling his thanks. She touched my lips, that must mean we're okay, he thinks. She places the miniature teddy bear on the dashboard in front of her, and he can't help but widen his smile. 

They may not know each other well anymore, but he doesn't care. She's with him, and that tells him everything he wants to know. Maybe it was all the months apart, but he wants her all the time now. All she has to do is look at him. 

He doesn't know whether to thank a god or his lucky stars; she seems to feel the same way. Their sex life has never been better, maybe because he recognizes her when they're in bed, from Before. Then she's the Scully he knows and remembers, not the woman she is Now, practically a stranger, if he was to be honest with himself. 

He only wishes the physical release could also decrease the cache of worries he has begun carrying with him. His fear follows him into the bedroom. He buries his mouth into her hair, her shoulder, her breasts, her sex, so that whatever secrets might escape won't be heard. She won't know the truth, not while she's sitting on his face. He can't let the words out by mistake, not if he wants her to stay with him. 

He has a lot of time to think these days. Most days, he lets himself just live, but on others, he can't escape his worries. On those days, he doesn't know where they're going. He feels like they're stuck. Maybe if I wasn't so damn pathetic I'd get up and do something, he thinks. But he doesn't know what she expects from him, and so he does nothing. He refuses to take any risks Now, not when the stakes are so high. 

He'd never thought he'd define himself by his career. But then again, he'd always thought of himself as a nobody until the FBI. Then, he'd been someone's partner. He'd clung to this new title; it gave him worth. Now, he's not sure if Scully still thinks of him as a partner. He fears losing this claim. If I lose it, where will I be? What will I do without her? 

She is my life. What will I do without my life? 

He has never been scared of something so much. He doesn't want to go back to being nothing. A nobody. And that's what he'll be without her. He knows that something is wrong, but he doesn't know what to do to fix things. When did he stop being able to read her? Has she changed that much in his absence? 

Is she having trouble adapting to the transience of their new lives? But she'd moved around a lot when she was young; she was used to being adaptable wasn't she? She's told him once that one of the advantages of moving around so much was the opportunity to re-invent herself each time. New schools meant new friends, and she had no problem being a follower. It was better to blend in with the crowd; fewer enemies were made that way, he remembered her telling him. "I learned that everything changes," she had said. Now when she talks about everything changing with each location and identity change, he can't help but wonder if she's referring to their relationship. Do her feelings for him fade a little more with each new place, each new name? Does she no longer love him? If so, why is she sticking around? 

She wouldn't have left with me, she wouldn't still be here if she doesn't need me like I need her, he reassures himself. He won't mess this up. And so he'll do everything he can so she'll want to stay. 

* * *

They are driving through Kansas when he innocently asks, "A penny for your thoughts?" She has been silent for almost an hour, and he is tired of listening to the sound of the highway. She shakes her head in the negative. Perhaps she is just responding to his silence with her own. If she won't talk to him, maybe he can get her to let him talk to her. When he's this bored, he knows he won't let the important stuff spew forth; it'll just be some simple chatter, if she'll take his bait for conversation. "What about a penny for my thoughts, then?" 

"Sorry, I only have one penny left and I'm saving it," she replies with a frown. 

He doesn't know whether to take her literally or not, and opts to remain silent. This time, he turns on the radio and tries to enjoy the country music rather than focusing on why she doesn't want to talk. When they stop to get gas next, while she's in the restroom, he buys her a bag of chocolate coins from the convenience store and a plastic keychain with a rollerskate on it from a candy machine. 

Scully gets into the driver's seat, looking at him for a sign of resistance, but he doesn't say anything. It would've been nice if she had let him know earlier that she wanted to drive, but it's not like she needs his permission, either. He puts the bag of chocolate on her lap and dangles the keychain in front of her face before she can start their car-of-the-week, a white Tempo with numerous rust spots. 

"Thanks for the chocolate," she says, a slight smile appearing on her lips. 

"Hey, don't forget about this lovely keychain! The wheels actually roll!" He demonstrates for her, but she is already picking up the chocolate. 

"There might even be a penny or two in there," he tells her. 

"Mulder, they don't make chocolate pennies." 

He takes the bag of chocolate from her and inspects it. She's right. "Can I have one anyway?" he asks, hoping she gets his implication. 

"Go ahead," she says, snatching the keychain out of his hand. "Give me one, too." 

As they pull out of the parking lot, he swallows a bite of chocolate, thinking of something interesting to tell her about. 

"Is it for luck?" he finds himself asking. 

"What?" she asks around a mouthful of chocolate. 

"The penny you saved. Is it for luck?" 

"No, Mulder. I don't need luck. I already have you," she answers, giving him a real smile. He will let that image of her buoy his spirits for the rest of the long drive. 

* * *

She is no longer a redhead, but a blonde. Even though he helped her dye her hair this afternoon in their motel room bathroom, he now laments doing so. Seeing her sitting in bed, writing in her journal, the blond hair loose and wavy around her shoulders, he misses the way she looked before. He may not be able to distinguish red from green, but he knows how familiar makes him feel. 

Does she miss the way I used to look? he wonders. He's letting his hair grow, both on his head and on his face, and she hasn't said anything to him about it. 

He wonders what she writes about each night. Something is wrong, but he can't ask her about it unless he wants to risk her wrath upon him. So he will wait until she gives him the clearest indication that she wants to confide in him. He's a very patient man nowadays. 

He tries to reconcile the present image of her to that of this morning, when they sat on hard plastic chairs at the laundromat, waiting for their drying clothes. She'd looked up from her page of the Cosmopolitan someone had left behind and declared, "I think it's time for a new change." 

"Huh?" On the verge of napping, he'd blinked at her. When she'd showed him her magazine, open to an advertisement for some brand of hair color, he'd sat straight up. 

He doesn't realize he is staring at her until she looks up at him from her notebook. "Do you mind? I can't concentrate with you standing there staring at me." 

"Oh, sorry, Scully," he replies. "I'm gonna go for a run," he tells her, after a moment of indecision. He doesn't know what else to do; he can't very well steal glances at her all night, not after she's already called him on his rudeness. Giving her some privacy might be best. 

* * *

"It's my father's birthday today," she announces mid-roasting. He's always wanted to go camping with Scully, but reality isn't quite the same as fantasy. Especially since her hot dog will have some kind of soy wiener in it. He's thrown by her announcement, since she hasn't been speaking to him much in the days they've been doing this great outdoors thing. 

He doesn't know what to say, and cowardly leaves his eyes on the food over the campfire. She hasn't wanted to talk, and since all they have with them to entertain themselves with is a deck of cards, they have been playing cards a lot. It's not that enjoyable for him since it's so easy for him to win, but he doesn't complain. He comforts himself that there is a sense of familiarity when they sit side by side in front of the campfire. The taste of sunflower seeds on his tongue and the warmth of her presence surpass their not-quite-comfortable silences. 

Now that she seems ready to confide in him, he doesn't know why he wants to backtrack. He thinks back to three days ago, when he'd inveigled her into breaking out of their routine by making love in the afternoon. She'd actually seemed happy, not as withdrawn and fragile, and he'd thought that she was finally ready to start taking down the impervious barrier he'd felt she'd constructed in his absence. But she hasn't shared her feelings with him yet, and now he's uneasy with her openness. If she's ready to talk, will I have to reciprocate? 

After realizing that he's not about to reply, Scully continues, "I usually spend today with my mom. We make Dad's favorite dessert--lemon meringue pie--together, we talk about his achievements, his bad habits, his idiosyncrasies, and we imagine what things would be like if he were still with us. We celebrate his life." 

After polishing off three hot dogs, he goes to the truck to retrieve the bag of marshmallows he snuck into their grocery cart last week. Scully remains in front of the campfire, swallowing bites of her hot dog carefully, as if it might choke her. He skewers two marshmallows onto a stick for her, then four for himself, before returning to the fire. 

"It's not lemon meringue pie, but it's just as sweet," he tells her, handing her the marshmallows, ready for toasting. He sits beside her, acknowledging the slight curve of a smile on her face with one of his own. "Let's celebrate your father's life." 

Two hours later, he will find himself relieved that they have run out of steam talking about the late Captain Scully. He isn't sure if he's ready to emotionally bleed, yet he knows that they need to eventually talk about the important things so that they can mend their relationship. He's just glad that the impending explosion has been delayed. 

* * *

He wonders if he should ask her to marry him. Maybe she disagrees with their arrangement, but is too embarrassed to admit to him that she thinks they're living in sin. 

He remembers his first marriage, which was really a non-marriage. He and Lauren had really had nothing in common, just that they had both been workaholics. They hadn't been in love with each other so much as in love with the idea of being in love. They had ended up annulling their marriage within a month. Last he'd heard, she'd quit practicing law and had moved to Ohio with her new husband. To him then, his wedding band had only meant that he was taken; Now, he imagines exchanging rings with Scully to show everyone that they belong to each other. Would she say "yes" if he asked her? He's disappointed, realizing that he doesn't know. 

She doesn't need a wedding ring to know that I'm hers forever, he reassures himself. What's important is what his heart feels, how he feels about her. Still, he can't get the idea out of his mind. Also, although he is almost unwilling to acknowledge it, if she's legally bound to him, she won't leave. 

At a 7-Eleven in Missouri, he buys her a candy ring. He wants to place it on her ring finger to see what kind of reaction he'd get, but changes his mind at the last minute, feeling fluttered and foolish, instead of courageously calm. She puts the candy in her pocket after he hands it to her. He doesn't know what it means and tells himself that the chances of her figuring out what he's up to is infinitesimal. 

* * *

He wakes up to discover that he is on a stretcher, rolling down a hospital corridor. "Sir, can you tell me your name?" a heavyset woman with curly black hair is asking him. He thinks she's a nurse. Pain surges through his left leg when he shifts on the stretcher. He remembers now. 

He'd had a lot on his mind during his jog. He'd been going down a curve when the sudden "Watch out!" sounded from behind him. There hadn't been time to react before the cyclist mowed him down. 

"Sir?" The nurse squeezes his arm. 

Damn! What is my name? He frantically searches through the list in his head: Rob, Geoff, Martin, Rick, George, Darren... George! He's George. "George Hale," he tells the nurse. "Can somebody call my wife?" he asks before thinking about it. He won't even realize that he called Scully his wife until later, after he's given the nurse their number, after she's already been called, after the doctor has given him a painkiller and he's losing the battle against drowsiness. 

He wakes up to the soothing tone of her voice. She could recite facts from a medical text or give a diatribe on the benefits of bee pollen; it would still be a balm to his soul. He doesn't need to open his eyes; her voice is enough for now. 

He only realizes that she has stopped talking when he feels her touch on his arm. She strokes his arm gently, as if he is more fragile than anything else. 

After a period of silence, her voice comes back. "Why can't I be happy? I'm here with the man I love and all I can do is ruminate on what doesn't fit in with my expectations!" 

He is nearly exploding with excitement. She is not one for much sentimentality much less declarations of love, so he'll take whatever he can get, whatever she will give him. Perhaps she has been feeling as if she couldn't afford to feel his love for her before this and is now reconciled with the truth--that he won't leave her again. He needs to let her know how strongly he feels. He opens his eyes and his mouth. "I love you, too, Scully." 

Her head turns so fast toward him he imagines that it's got to hurt. Her smile reminds him of the one he encountered after waking up in another hospital far, far north to find her at his bedside. "How long have you been awake?" she asks softly, her hand moving up to his face. 

"Not long enough," he replies, placing his hand over hers and pressing his lips to her palm. 

* * *

He remembers joking around with her about her pizza deliveryman--that seems ages ago Now--and applies for a job at Antonio's. The work is not particularly enjoyable, but he does make some friends in his new co-workers, and hopes to bring up getting together to play some basketball soon. 

On an especially windy evening, he returns home to the trailer in a fowl mood. He is tired, hungry, and antsy. Scully is sitting in front of the TV--her new hobby--and seems to be ignoring his arrival. Annoyed with her indifference, he purposely makes a lot of noise, ending with the thump of the pizza box on the counter. 

"Pizza for supper again?" are her first words to him. Her frown does not improve his mood, and he finds himself getting angry. He should have known that the community they're currently living wouldn't help her bounce back to the Scully he's used to--Before Scully. He'd already seen the influence of the other women in the trailer park on her; he shouldn't have let his displeasure remain hidden. It's about time that he let it out. 

"Maybe it wouldn't be if you'd go grocery shopping." 

"What is that supposed to mean? Why do I have to be the one to do the shopping?" He has never seen Scully whine before, and finds that it is not pleasant at all. 

"Because I have to work." 

"It's not my fault I haven't gotten any calls yet." 

He almost laughs at her. "Don't give me that BS, Scully. You complain that you haven't found anything, but you've hardly looked. You say you hate doing nothing, but that's all I see you doing. What are you so afraid of?" 

"I'm not afraid--" 

"Look at yourself, Scully! You're a mess. You sit at home all day in front of the TV. You don't want to go anywhere. You don't talk to me. What's wrong with you?" 

She is silent. He wishes she would say something, anything. If only he could know what she was feeling. Anger or disappointment would even be okay. 

He sits down across from her on the hideous monstrosity that is the lumpiest recliner he has ever sat in. After several unsuccessful attempts to get comfortable, he asks her quietly, "What are you fighting?" 

"I don't know, Mulder," she replies. She walks over to turn the television off and stares at the blank, gray screen, falling to the carpet in defeat. 

He steps behind her, bending down and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. He needs to ask that which has been haunting him for weeks now. Not knowing might destroy their relationship, if she even thinks they still have one. He opens his mouth and lets the words escape, "Do you regret leaving with me?" 

She does not seem surprised by the question. "No, I want to be with you. I just..." 

"Just what, Scully?" 

"I just didn't know it would be like this. I don't know if I can do this, so I haven't tried. Why can't things be easy?" 

"It wouldn't be life if it was." He kisses the top of her head. 

"I'm sorry," she whispers before starting to cry. 

The guilt presses on him and he steps back. He goes to get her a Kleenex and remembers that it's not even Kleenex, but some generic crap that feels like sandpaper. He feels slightly annoyed. Why doesn't she buy the soft stuff? They can afford it; he has the money. A lightbulb turns on; he has the money, but she doesn't. Doesn't she know that what's his is hers? He realizes that he will have to talk to her about this. 

He returns to Scully with a tissue. "Thank you," she says after blowing her nose. He nods and retreats, giving her some privacy to compose herself. 

"Sit down, Mulder. We need to talk," she says a moment later. 

It hasn't been a contest, but still, he has been feeling as if she's been challenging him in a game of "Who can suffer in silence the longest?" It has been hard to tell, but now he thinks that he's winning. He goes to sit down, and for a brief but terrifying moment, he worries that he'd misread her entirely after all, and that she'll say, "I feel dead inside, Mulder." She still lives for him, he knows, but he doesn't know what he'll do if she feels she has nothing left she would die for. He sits on the couch beside her, and the relief is significant when she begins by saying, "I miss my couch." 

He almost laughs out loud. He's been missing her couch for over a year now. "Me, too. It was firmer than mine." 

"I don't think you do, Mulder." He realizes she is being serious and wipes the smile off his face. 

She takes a deep breath and continues, "I miss my couch, my bed, my bathtub, my phone. I miss everything about my apartment! I miss work. The office, John, Monica, Skinner, Kim, the lab people... even the parking attendant! I miss my mother. I miss Georgetown. I miss my life!" 

"It's only natural--" 

"I want to be with you, but this isn't the life I wanted," she cuts in. 

What does she want me to say? he asks himself. He's not about to bring up William when she hasn't mentioned his name. He doesn't want to be a hypocrite, telling her they should cut their losses and move on, while the pain tears at him from the inside out. Sure, he'd craved the "normal life," too, but he wasn't about to admit it now, when it obviously wasn't in their cards. Maybe they didn't try hard enough to make it work, but maybes don't mean anything now anyway. He remains silent because he has no reassurances for her, or for himself. 

"I think that I was so afraid of not being able to do this, that I haven't," she admits. "I need you with me." 

He's confused. "I am with you, Scully." 

"I need you to miss our old life as much as I do. I need you to mourn it with me," she says quietly. 

A realization comes to him. She's been marinating in his guilt long enough. Has he known all along what the problem was? Did he listen selectively, ignoring what her silences spoke to him? He'd worried that his actions were responsible for changing her, for turning her into a stranger. Has he been subconsciously punishing her, displacing his guilt of leaving her onto her? She's has never blamed him, and she's forgiven herself for what she's had to do in his absence. He's forgiven her--there was no question there--but the truth is, he hasn't forgiven himself. And he can't mourn with her because he never really realized what he'd had Before. Now that it's no longer in his grasp, it's too late for regrets. 

"I blame no one but myself," he tells her. "If it weren't for my leaving--" 

"You don't know that," she interrupts. "We don't know that things would have worked out either way." 

"So we're screwed?" 

"No!" she protests, but doesn't elaborate further. 

They stew in compromised silence for a few minutes before he decides he needs to tell her the truth. "I miss the Scully I used to know," he admits quietly. 

"The one that was strong?" she asks softly. He hears everything that she's not saying through her question; she thinks that she is weak. 

"No, the one that trusts me enough to shoot me, much less tell me what she's thinking. The one that lets me in because she knows how much I respect her. The one that believes in us and knows how much I love her." 

She looks as if she's ready to start crying again, and ducks her head, breaking eye contact with him. He gathers her close to him, expecting to feel dampness on his shirt, but the tears don't come. He is unprepared for the words that do come when she looks up at him again. 

"You're right, Mulder." 

"Scully, I--" 

"I've been questioning your love for me ever since we left. Not because I think you don't love me, but because I'm unsure whether we love each other enough. I've missed you so much this past year, and all I thought about was being with you when we heard the verdict. But once we were alone, my insecurities just showed up, making me second-guess myself on everything. I'm blaming you for things that only I have control over. I'm angry with myself, not you. It's just easy to put everything on you when you're the only person here. You're too imp... You're the most important person in my life and I don't want or need anything else but you. I'm sorry. Can we start over?" 

Her admission makes him brave, and he has so much he suddenly wants to divulge that he is overwhelmed. "Can I just say 'ditto?'" he asks. Hearing her soft laughter fills his soul with joy. 

* * *

He comes home when it's dark. It's raining outside and his hair has gotten wet. He is careful not to get any water on the floor, leaving his boots on the small mat just inside the trailer door. He is weary, and his stomach is growling for attention beyond a gentle reminder of needing nourishment. So the laces are left hanging from the boots, snaking towards the floor, dragging in the puddles not yet soaked into the mat. He will deal with them later, he thinks. 

"Mulder?" Scully appears at the bedroom door. 

"Yeah, it's me. Go back to bed. I'm just going to grab a bite first--" 

"I can't sleep," she admits. 

On nights that they both have trouble sleeping, they talk about everything and anything. The night usually starts off with the easy-to-talk-about stuff, and progresses from there. He isn't sure he'll be able to stay awake once he's in bed tonight, though, and sensing her talkative mood, decides to start their nighttime conversation earlier. "Why don't you stay out here and keep me company," he suggests. 

She doesn't answer aloud, but walks into the kitchen and starts the kettle. He shakes his jacket off, leaving it lying across the ratty recliner. He peruses the contents of the fridge while she makes them herbal tea, then makes himself a turkey sandwich before joining her at the table. 

"What do you think happened to my fish?" he asks after swallowing a healthy bite of his sandwich. 

Scully smiles and puts her mug down. "They're probably with my mother." 

"They must be doing pretty well, then." 

"Yes," she agrees, "my mother is a good caretaker, a good parent." He nods instead of talking with his mouth full. "A childhood friend died of leukemia," she reveals. "I can't really remember Ginny's illness now. My parents didn't let us know too much. They probably thought I was too young to understand, too sensitive to deal with death and dying at eight. Maybe their protectiveness contributed to my later fascination in the subject, my interest in pathology." 

His mouth is full, so he just nods. It's his turn to contribute to the conversation, but he senses that she is in a talkative mood tonight, so swallows and asks a question instead. "Do you miss your gun?" 

"I miss its weight, but I don't feel unsafe without it. Remember what I said about not needing luck? When I'm with you, nothing goes wrong. I feel safe with you." 

He doesn't know whether to celebrate the treasure she's revealed to him in her statement, or worry about the possibility of a co-dependent tendency. He continues eating while thinking of something else to ask her about. After a few moments of silence, he opens his mouth to ask her another question. 

"When I was seventeen, one of my friends from school got pregnant," she suddenly tells him before he can ask her about her brother Charles. He closes his mouth, letting her continue. "She tried to hide it from her parents, but it was impossible. She was stick-thin. She ended up giving the baby up for adoption." 

If he is surprised, he doesn't show it. He nods unconsciously and takes a sip of tea. 

"Do you think he's happy with his new family?" she blurts out. 

"Yes," he replies, because he won't believe anything less. Neither of them can. They both agree to leave whether or not William's better off without them for another conversation by picking up their mugs simultaneously. 

He's the first to come up with a change in subject. "Who do you like being best?" he asks. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Sarah, Deirdre, Shannon, Car--" 

She cuts him off. "It doesn't matter what my name is, where I am, or what I am doing. I know who I am. Isn't that what matters? Shouldn't that be enough?" she asks him. 

"Yeah, but don't you have a favorite?" 

"I'd rather be Dana." 

"Okay, let me rephrase my question. Which background intrigues you the most?" 

She thinks for quite a while before replying, "Deirdre's. I think that I would've liked living in Switzerland." 

He smiles imagining Scully hidden beneath layers of winter clothing as he pushes his empty plate to the center of the table. He sips his tea, which has cooled considerably, as she sweeps the crumbs he left on the table in front of him into her hand, then lets them fall onto the plate. "Did you get a chance to go to the library today?" she inquires. They'd agreed earlier in the week that it was time to resume communication with his contacts--better to be in the know, even if it meant risking their safety. He remembers the immense relief he felt sitting in front of the computer screen this afternoon, as "Martin" was welcomed back into the on-line communities he'd been away from. He'd felt as if he was home, then, a feeling he hasn't quite yet regained with Now Scully. 

"Yeah. New York City, end of the summer." 

"Do you think we'll be able to stop it?" she asks quietly. 

"I have to believe that we will." 

They sit in a sufficient silence, contemplating the future separately, before he breaks it. "Come on, let's go to bed." He gets up from the table and puts their dishes in the sink. 

"I'm not sleepy," she returns. 

"Come on." He turns around from the sink with a leer. "I'll make it worth your while." 

There's a tiny pause before her mouth turns upward in the smallest of smiles. "What do you have in mind?" 

"Follow me and you'll find out." He starts walking to the bedroom without waiting for her response. The sound of a chair scraping on the floor as it is moved slows his pace, but he resumes his path as the sweep of rolled-up-but-still-too-long pajamas follows behind him. 

* * *

He wakes up with the sun in his face. The brightness pours through the tiny trailer window, hurting his eyes. He rubs at his eyes, rolling away from the glare onto Scully's side of the bed when he sees that she's already up. He breathes in her smell from her abandoned pillow and suddenly remembers what he did last night. His mind churns with all the awful things he can call himself: idiot, loser, prick, asshole, shithead. He decides to go with shithead. 

Yeah, so he'd had marriage on his mind lately--he didn't have to propose during sex, though. He'd wanted a romantic set-up, something she would remember fondly. Shit, he hadn't even gotten her a ring yet! And worse, he doesn't know if she took him seriously or not. There's no way he can ask her about it. What would he even say? By the way, Scully, when you screamed "yes" last night, were you accepting my proposal or was that just your ecstatic reaction to the best sex you've ever had? Yep, he is definitely a shithead. 

She practically bounces into the bedroom with coffee for him. One look at her beaming face and he knows what interpretation she's going with. She's always been able to read him quite well. Why can't he read her as well as he used to? He doesn't want to think about that right now. She looks different, excited. Suddenly, he doesn't feel like a shithead after all. 

"How would my best friend like to go ring shopping with me?" he asks her. 

She sets his coffee on the nightstand and pounces on him. "She would love it," she says a little breathlessly. 

* * *

He stares at the marriage license on the hotel dresser. George Hale and Deirdre Mackenzie. It is no use being upset; fate has not deigned their former names safe for using, so they can not marry with their real names. They are in New York to meet his contact, and next in his plans are going somewhere nice and getting married. 

Scully comes out of the bathroom in a black suit. He hasn't seen her in anything but casual wear for months, and does a double take. Her long, blond hair, which she has been braiding lately, is left flowing over her shoulders, and she has put on bright lipstick. She almost looks like Before Scully. He suddenly misses her real hair color, even though he can now see this color better. Next to him in his gray suit, they'll look like business partners having lunch with a client--if his contact shows up. She interrupts his nostalgic thoughts, "Ready, Mulder?" She picks up her sunglasses from the dresser. 

He slips the license into a drawer and grabs his jacket. There are more important things to think about now than their old selves. "Right behind you, Scully." 

Next month, on a foggy autumn evening, when they have opted out of their overly friendly neighbor Jim's invitation for a Star Trek marathon, he will take her for a walk in the park across the street from their rented house. He will show her the oak tree covered with adolescent carvings, and she will talk about the damage graffiti does to trees. Sheepishly, he will show her his addition to it. Upon seeing "FM + DS" carved inside a heart, she will fling herself into his arms and kiss him as if it's their last day on Earth. And for the first time, he'll truly believe that fate will keep them together. It may not be happily ever after for them--far from, in fact, but it'll be enough for him at the moment just knowing that they're okay. 

**THE END**

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